Whoosh—
The wind tore past Ike's numb ears. He found himself thinking, If an elf were here, wouldn't those pointed ears get blown right off?
Not that it mattered. He had already seen several Cavalrymen lose their ears. If he dared touch his own, they would probably fall off too.
Ike leaned forward as though climbing a mountain, bracing himself against the vicious wind that always seemed to blow straight at him, no matter which way he turned.
His movements grew slower and clumsier until he collapsed into the snow.
He struggled onto his back. A Cavalryman behind him reached out a hand.
Ike did not take it. He only gasped, "I can't walk anymore..."
He crawled to the side of the path and sat in a snowbank.
"Don't worry. The blizzard will bury me. I won't give us away..."
Ike felt warm, as if he were lying beside a hearth. The pleasant heat made him want to sleep.
He grew hotter still and even began to sweat. One by one, he took off his armor.
People kept trudging past him in silence. After throwing aside his heavy Breastplate, Ike suddenly regained a sliver of clarity.
He raised a hand and pointed ahead. As it slowly froze, it became a signpost.
"Rest in peace..."
Granven paid his respects to the nameless comrade as he passed, then followed the trail others had beaten through the snow.
Soldiers kept falling, paving a road of death. Most lay in the same pose, fingers pointing ahead to guide the comrades behind them.
Worse than the blizzard or death itself was losing their way.
Memory was useless amid snowflakes that slanted first one way, then another, as the wind shifted. Again and again, someone vanished into the storm in despair.
Granven trudged on with his